My Bondage and My Freedom focus passages
To what degree is Fred’s resistance to Covey offensive or defensive? How does
Douglass depict his resistance to Covey in 1845 and in 1855? Are there
differences?
“I had brought my mind to a firm resolve, during that Sunday's reflection, viz: to obey
every order, however unreasonable, if it were possible, and, if Mr. Covey should then
undertake to beat me, to defend and protect myself to the best of my ability. My religious
views on the subject of resisting my master, had suffered a serious shock, by the savage
persecution to which I had been subjected, and my hands were no longer tied by my
religion. Master Thomas's indifference had severed the last link. I had now to this extent
"backslidden" from this point in the slave's religious creed; and I soon had occasion to
make my fallen state known to my Sunday-pious brother, Covey.
Whilst I was obeying his order to feed and get the horses ready for the field, and
when in the act of going up the stable loft for the purpose of throwing down some blades,
Covey sneaked into the stable, in his peculiar snake-like way, and seizing me suddenly by
the leg, he brought me to the stable floor, giving my newly mended body a fearful jar. I
now forgot my roots, and remembered my pledge to stand up in my own defense. The
brute was endeavoring skillfully to get a slip-knot on my legs, before I could draw up my
feet. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring, (my two day's rest had
been of much service to me,) and by that means, no doubt, he was able to bring me to the
floor so heavily. He was defeated in his plan of tying me. While down, he seemed to
think he had me very securely in his power. He little thought he was--as the rowdies say-"in" for a "rough and tumble" fight; but such was the fact. Whence came the daring spirit
necessary to grapple with a man who, eight-and-forty hours before, could, with his
slightest word have made me tremble like a leaf in a storm, I do not know; at any rate, I
was resolved to fight, and, what was better still, I was actually hard at it. The fighting
madness had come upon me, and I found my strong fingers firmly attached to the throat
of my cowardly tormentor; as heedless of consequences, at the moment, as though we
stood as equals before the law. The very color of the man was forgotten. I felt as supple
as a cat, and was ready for the snakish creature at every turn. Every blow of his was
parried, though I dealt no blows in turn. I was strictly on the defensive, preventing him
from injuring me, rather than trying to injure him. I flung him on the ground several
times, when he meant to have hurled me there. I held him so firmly by the throat, that his
blood followed my nails. He held me, and I held him.
All was fair, thus far, and the contest was about equal. My resistance was entirely
unexpected, and Covey was taken all aback by it, for he trembled in every limb. "Are you
going to resist, you scoundrel?" said he. To which, I returned a polite "yes sir; steadily
gazing my interrogator in the eye, to meet the first approach or dawning of the blow,
which I expected my answer would call forth. But, the conflict did not long remain thus
equal. Covey soon cried out lustily for help; not that I was obtaining any marked
advantage over him, or was injuring him, but because he was gaining none over me, and
was not able, single handed, to conquer me. He called for his cousin Hughes, to come to
his assistance, and now the scene was changed. I was compelled to give blows, as well as
to parry them; and, since I was, in any case, to suffer for resistance, I felt (as the musty
proverb goes) that "I might as well be hanged for an old sheep as a lamb." I was still
defensive toward Covey, but aggressive toward Hughes; and, at the first approach of the
latter, I dealt a blow, in my desperation, which fairly sickened my youthful assailant. He
went off, bending over with pain, and manifesting no disposition to come within my
reach again. The poor fellow was in the act of trying to catch and tie my right hand, and
while flattering himself with success, I gave him the kick which sent him staggering
away in pain, at the same time that I held Covey with a firm hand.
Taken completely by surprise, Covey seemed to have lost his usual strength and
coolness. He was frightened, and stood puffing and blowing, seemingly unable to
command words or blows. When he saw that poor Hughes was standing half bent with
pain--his courage quite gone--the cowardly tyrant asked if I "meant to persist in my
resistance." I told him "I did mean to resist, come what might;" that I had been by him
treated like a brute, during the last six months; and that I should stand it no longer. With
that, he gave me a shake, and attempted to drag me toward a stick of wood, that was lying
just outside the stable door. He meant to knock me down with it; but, just as he leaned
over to get the stick, I seized him with both hands by the collar, and, with a vigorous and
sudden snatch, I brought my assailant harmlessly, his full length, on the not over clean
ground--for we were now in the cow yard. He had selected the place for the fight, and it
was but right that he should have all the advantages of his own selection.
By this time, Bill, the hired man, came home. He had been to Mr. Hemsley's, to
spend the Sunday with his nominal wife, and was coming home on Monday morning, to
go to work. Covey and I had been skirmishing from before daybreak, till now, that the
sun was almost shooting his beams over the eastern woods, and we were still at it. I could
not see where the matter was to terminate. He evidently was afraid to let me go, lest I
should again make off to the woods; otherwise, he would probably have obtained arms
from the house, to frighten me. Holding me, Covey called upon Bill for assistance. The
scene here, had something comic about it. "Bill," who knew precisely what Covey wished
him to do, affected ignorance, and pretended he did not know what to do. "What shall I
do, Mr. Covey," said Bill. "Take hold of him--take hold of him!" said Covey. With a toss
of his head, peculiar to Bill, he said, "indeed, Mr. Covey, I want to go to work." "This is
your work," said Covey; "take hold of him." Bill replied, with spirit, "My master hired
me here, to work, and not to help you whip Frederick." It was now my turn to speak.
"Bill," said I, "don't put your hands on me." To which he replied, "MY GOD! Frederick, I
aint goin' to tech ye," and Bill walked off, leaving Covey and myself to settle our matters
as best we might.
But, my present advantage was threatened when I saw Caroline (the slave-woman of
Covey) coming to the cow yard to milk, for she was a powerful woman, and could have
mastered me very easily, exhausted as I now was. As soon as she came into the yard,
Covey attempted to rally her to his aid. Strangely--and, I may add, fortunately--Caroline
was in no humor to take a hand in any such sport. We were all in open rebellion, that
morning. Caroline answered the command of her master to "take hold of me," precisely as
Bill had answered, but in her, it was at greater peril so to answer; she was the slave of
Covey, and he could do what he pleased with her. It was not so with Bill, and Bill knew
it. Samuel Harris, to whom Bill belonged, did not allow his slaves to be beaten, unless
they were guilty of some crime which the law would punish. But, poor Caroline, like
myself, was at the mercy of the merciless Covey; nor did she escape the dire effects of
her refusal. He gave her several sharp blows.
Covey at length (two hours had elapsed) gave up the contest. Letting me go, he
said,--puffing and blowing at a great rate--"now, you scoundrel, go to your work; I would
not have whipped you half so much as I have had you not resisted." The fact was, he had
not whipped me at all. He had not, in all the scuffle, drawn a single drop of blood from
me. I had drawn blood from him; and, even without this satisfaction, I should have been
victorious, because my aim had not been to injure him, but to prevent his injuring me.
During the whole six months that I lived with Covey, after this transaction, he never
laid on me the weight of his finger in anger. He would, occasionally, say he did not want
to have to get hold of me again--a declaration which I had no difficulty in believing; and I
had a secret feeling, which answered, "you need not wish to get hold of me again, for you
will be likely to come off worse in a second fight than you did in the first."
Well, my dear reader, this battle with Mr. Covey,--undignified as it was, and as I
fear my narration of it is--was the turning point in my "life as a slave." It rekindled in my
breast the smouldering embers of liberty; it brought up my Baltimore dreams, and revived
a sense of my own manhood. I was a changed being after that fight. I was nothing before;
I WAS A MAN NOW. It recalled to life my crushed self-respect and my self-confidence,
and inspired me with a renewed determination to be A FREEMAN. A man, without
force, is without the essential dignity of humanity. Human nature is so constituted, that it
cannot honor a helpless man, although it can pity him; and even this it cannot do long, if
the signs of power do not arise.”
. . .
Compare the portrayal of Caroline in the Narrative and in My Bondage, My
Freedom. What is similar in both portrayals and what differences appear? Why
would Douglass change the portrait in 1855?
“I have already said, or implied, that Mr. Edward Covey was a poor man. He was, in fact,
just commencing to lay the foundation of his fortune, as fortune is regarded in a slave
state. The first condition of wealth and respectability there, being the ownership of
human property, every nerve is strained, by the poor man, to obtain it, and very little
regard is had to the manner of obtaining it. In pursuit of this object, pious as Mr. Covey
was, he proved himself to be as unscrupulous and base as the worst of his neighbors. In
the beginning, he was only able--as he said--"to buy one slave;" and, scandalous and
shocking as is the fact, he boasted that he bought her simply "as a breeder." But the
worst is not told in this naked statement. This young woman (Caroline was her name)
was virtually compelled by Mr. Covey to abandon herself to the object for which he had
purchased her; and the result was, the birth of twins at the end of the year. At this
addition to his human stock, both Edward Covey and his wife, Susan, were extatic with
joy. No one dreamed of reproaching the woman, or of finding fault with the hired man-Bill Smith--the father of the children, for Mr. Covey himself had locked the two up
together every night, thus inviting the result.
But I will pursue this revolting subject no further. No better illustration of the
unchaste and demoralizing character of slavery can be found, than is furnished in the fact
that this professedly christian slaveholder, amidst all his prayers and hymns, was
shamelessly and boastfully encouraging, and actually compelling, in his own house,
undisguised and unmitigated fornication, as a means of increasing his human stock. I may
remark here, that, while this fact will be read with disgust and shame at the north, it will
be laughed at, as smart and praiseworthy in Mr. Covey, at the south; for a man is no more
condemned there for buying a woman and devoting her to this life of dishonor, than for
buying a cow, and raising stock from her. The same rules are observed, with a view to
increasing the number and quality of the former, as of the latter. . . .”